


my year in lists

by snugglepup



Series: i felt free [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Blindness, Bluh blah the pale relationship is John and Vriska, Disability, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Humanstuck, More than just garden-variety humanstuck, Not just Pesterlogs though, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Pesterlog, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglepup/pseuds/snugglepup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The streets are loud and gross and moldy and gray like always, except for the people, who are much too numerous for comfort and all of their different scents make you a little bit dizzy, but you're used to that by now, at least as used to it as you can be; you are not the kind of girl who is defeated by her environment (or anyone for that matter) and you know exactly where you're going anyway. Eventually you find your weird little coffee shop and the nice barista who never inspires you to dream of causing her to experience incredible death, order some tea with lots of red syrupy stuff in it, and sniff your way to an empty table where you can just be away from everything in peace and possibly release some tension by causing minor harm to somebody if the need arises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my year in lists

**Author's Note:**

> It's not necessary to read the other parts of this series first (not all are even complete) due to the nonlinear timeline of the series, but it might help with a few things to read Spider in the Snow.

_you said "send me stationary to make me horny" so i always write you letters in multi-colors_

_decorating envelopes for foreplay, damn extended metaphors, i get carried away_

_on the back of a natural disaster, fixed with parcel tape and with kids sticking plaster_

_nothing says "i miss you" quite like war poetry you carved in your door with a stanley knife_

[ _los campesinos - my year in lists_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDk7zyWbSQQ)

* * *

 

**April 2014, Somewhere In Texas When The Scent Of Spring Mingles With Smog And The Roar Of Highways Forms A Harsh Backdrop For The Cant Of Crows**

 

* * *

 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and since your birthday was months ago, today should be pretty much the same as any other Saturday. When you wake up you think you can almost remember what you dreamed about, something about spiders. It is probably not normal to have dreams that maybe relate to people you only know on the internet (unless it is), but you're pretty far from normal! The only weird part is that when you woke up there were tears on your cheeks, and if you're being honest with yourself, talking to Spidergirl might currently be the main reason your life doesn't feel mostly pointless, so it doesn't make a lot of sense for any dreams about her to be sad.

Stretching out and lounging in bed for a while (it is a Saturday, and that mandates lazy mornings), you smell rapidly spinning vanilla above and an equally familiar sort of dirtier, mildly rotten vanilla above that. Maybe your caretaker could clean up some of that dust? It gets awkward for her sometimes, popping in and then just leaving or loitering to watch TV shows that make your sinuses ache. She doesn't really have to do much, and while you like her, it irks you that she has to be around; you'll never take back what you said to the sad excuse for a judge who wouldn't believe he was breaking his own laws because you did not actually need anyone around to get by and therefore his claims that it would be illegal for you to live on your own were completely inaccurate and _highly_ unbefitting of someone of his educational level and stature.

With a yawn, you drag yourself out of bed and onto the eternally clean patch of fuzzy dirt curls that you really need to get dyed a better smelling color one of these days. From there you pick up a raspberry plush dragon and bring it with you to your usual black licorice rectangle. There's no one around, obviously, so you go ahead and take a quick lick of a clean spot. This is a mistake because now you are very aware that you want breakfast.

Maybe Spidergirl will be online. You haven't talked to her in a couple of days, and you'd never say it to anyone else but you're kind of lonely. There should be laws against loneliness. When you are 'grown up' and somebody important you will be the one to draft those laws and all of America will thank you.

Spidergirl isn't online, though. The lower right corner of your monitor tastes like one in the afternoon, so probably she is doing something with her boyfriend who isn't actually her boyfriend but is kind of her boyfriend but still isn't. She told you there is a word for whatever's going on with them, but that she can't tell you what it is. You'll just have to troll people in random chat rooms, then, or go tonguing your way through some other dumb part of the web. Hehe, web.

Then Pesterchum pings an incoming message from someone with text that tastes like flowers and... ink? There's no black to the letters but there's still a weird hint of it and it bugs you. In fact, as a rule you don't really like flowers at all, because they are breeding grounds for pollen and it's really boring lying around aimlessly wishing you could smell or taste anything but indescribable nasty green slime and thick pus globs, but you will make an exception for this person because they are not actually a flower as far as you know.

 

tentacleTherapist [TT] has begun pestering gallowsCalibrator [GC]

 

TT: Do you remember?

GC: 1 R3M3MB3R 4 LOT OF TH1NGS BUT NOT YOU S1NC3 W3V3 N3V3R T4LK3D B3FOR3

GC: HOW D1D YOU G3T TH1S H4NDL3?

TT: Well, that does seem to fit the pattern. Fascinating.

TT: He'll do his best not to cheat; he has his own peculiar sense of honor, a knightly code of sorts that certainly does not permit deliberate metagaming.

GC: TH1S M34NS NOTH1NG 4ND 1M T1R3D OF CRYPT1C NONS3NS3, 1 TOL3R4T3 3NOUGH OF TH4T FROM P3OPL3 1 4CTUALLY L1K3 WHO 4R3 4LSO FR13NDS

GC: DO YOU W4NT A CONV3RS4T1ON OR DO YOU JUST W4NT TO B3 OBNOX1OUS

TT: Do us all a favor and try to stay away from clowns if you happen to stumble upon any in our unexpected second march toward the grave. I'd prefer my brother's heart be broken in a significantly less asinine manner this time around.

 

tentacleTherapist[TT] has ceased pestering gallowsCalibrator [GC]

 

... Okay, that was different. Normally when you are messaged by strangers on Pesterchum, it's just a spambot, but that was no spambot! That was weird and creepy. That was _another_ mystery, or maybe just someone trolling you, but you don't really believe that for some reason. There was something familiar about that taste, and the way it makes you feel is sort of like talking to Spidergirl, not in the sense that you are enjoying yourself talking to someone who is worth your time, but in the sense that there's something very wrong somewhere and when you think about it too hard you get headaches.

You spend a while online trying to hunt down anything related to Flowergirl's handle (she is definitely a girl, and you don't think so because of the taste, it is just something that's obvious to you) and are very disturbed when 'a while' turns into 'several hours' and you're starting to think there's no trail to follow at all. Unacceptable! You vaguely realize you are starving and find it difficult to care.

Another unexpected ping! What is going on today? It's another stranger, but this one is blue raspberry, clean air, and what you think clear skies would taste like. It is nice! You are _almost_ certain that blue raspberry is a different thing than regular raspberry and it tastes different to you so it does not even matter. You also miss clean air. It's been harder to get around since you moved to the city, and while you are used to it now you still feel a little bit hindered by all of the smog and exhaust fumes.

 

ectoBiologist [EB]  has begun pestering  gallowsCalibrator [GC]

 

EB: uh, hi! hello. you don't know me! obviously. but i sort of know you, in the way that people know about each other because of other people?

EB: boy i am really not doing a good job of communicating right now.

GC: 4R3 YOU 1N L34GU3 W1TH TH3 FLOW3RY G1RL

GC: 1M PR3TTY S3R1OUS 1F P3OPL3 4R3 GO1NG TO H4R4SS M3 ONL1N3 4G41N 1 4M GO1NG TO F1ND YOU 4ND L4T3R WH3N TH3 POL1C3 4R3 1NVOLV3D NO ON3 W1LL B3L13V3 TH4T 4 POOR L1TTL3 BL1ND G1RL COULD H4V3 WR3CK3D 4LL OF YOUR POSS3SS1ONS SO THOROUGHLY

EB: whoa whoa oh man no! wait that's happened before? i'm sorry, that really sucks.

EB: actually i kind of need your help!

EB: a lot, like right this second, although i don't know if... well after you i've only got one other option and i will totally do it but she will be really mad at me for a while! if she's even, um, okay.

GC: YOU H4V3 NO 1D34 HOW L1TTL3 MOR3 CRYPT1C BULLSH1T 1 W1LL PUT UP W1TH R1GHT NOW

EB: oh jeez please don't block me or anything! i'm not trying to be cryptic i am just really freaking out.

EB: i'm pretty sure vriska is going to try to kill herself but she's not at home and i don't know where to look for her and her mom probably wouldn't even care and she blocked me on here and won't answer her phone but maybe she would talk to you????????

GC: 1 DONT KNOW WHO TH4T 1S 1 TH1NK M4YB3 YOU H4V3 TH3 WRONG P3RSON

EB: oh crap she's gonna be really really really mad i told you her name, dang it! um. too late now. arachnidsGrip. sorry this is a scary thing to throw on somebody but i have to try something before i call the police because i don't know if she'll forgive for me doing that...

GC: W41T WH4T

GC: SP1D3RG1RL DO3SN'1 S33M L1K3 TH3 TYPE, SH3 IS 4LW4YS R1D1CULOUS 4ND 4 DR4M4 QU33N BUT ST1LL

EB: wow, seriously? and how would you know she's not the type? you're not the one who's been on a bathroom floor with bandages and paper towels trying to soak up a bunch of your not-really-girlfriend's blood. what the hell do you really know about her?

GC: TH4TS NOT WH4T 1 M34NT

GC: 4ND M4YB3 1 WOULD KNOW 4 LOT MOR3 1F SH3D 4CTU4LLY T3LL M3 4NYTH1NG

GC: 1LL M3SS4G3 H3R 4ND S33 WH4T H4PP3NS 4ND HOP3FULLY H3LP SOM3HOW

EB: you'll 'see' what happens?

GC: YOU 4R3 4N 4SSHOL3

GC: 1 4PPROV3

GC: 1LL B3 R1GHT B4CK TH3N

 

gallowsCalibrator [GC] has begun pestering  arachnidsGrip [AG]

 

AG: what the fuck do you want?

GC: MOSTLY FOR YOU TO NOT B3 DY1NG OR D34D R34LLY

GC: TH4TS TH3 M41N TH1NG 1 W4NT R1GHT NOW

AG: i guess it sucks to 8e you then, doesnt it.

GC: WH4TS WRONG WHY 4R3 YOU DO1NG TH1S D1D SOM3TH1NG H4PP3N

AG: yeah. I HAPPENED!!!!!!!! and im sick of the fact that im still happening, and im sick of this fucking planet and im sick of 8eing fucked up a8out this 8ody half the time and i dont even know why im saying any of this YOURE NOT MY FUCKING MOIRAIL SO LEAVE ME ALONE

GC: 1 DONT W4NT TO B3C4US3 1F YOU DO WH4T3V3R YOURE PL4NN1NG TH3N TH3 ON3S WHOLL B3 L3FT 4LON3 4R3 JOHN 4ND 1 4ND YOU 4LR34DY KNOW HOW MUCH H3 N33DS YOU OR SHOULD 1 R3M1ND YOU OF WH4T H4PP3N3D L4ST CHR1STM4S

AG: shut UP you dont know ANYTHING a8out us and I H8 YOU SO MUCH FOR SOMEHOW 8EING RIGHT ANYWAY!!!!!!!!

AG: why the fuck do you know johns name? i never told you his name.

 

Wait, what? She's right, she didn't, and he didn't do it either. Nobody told you her demi-boyfriend's name at all. You just... knew it, and it feels like one of those things where there is something you knew a very long time ago but forgot, and then something happens and you can't believe you didn't remember. Except that you don't have _context_ for this, there are no associated memories, are there? Why do you know? You have to know for _some_ reason and you try your hardest to remember but after a few seconds it feels like there are knives behind your eye sockets and you're getting dizzy.

You're honestly starting to think that maybe there is something wrong with you.

AG: i guess he must have told you, and thatd explain this total 8ullshit right now, like anyone wouldnt 8e 8etter off with me dead in the long run.

AG: they were 8etter off after i died 8efore and no8ody even 8othered to pretend it wasnt a fucking relief that i wasnt around to ruin everything and hurt people and fuck everything up!!!!!!!!!

GC: TH4T W4S N1N3 3XCL4M4T1ON M4RKS 4ND 1 DONT KNOW WH4T 4 LOT OF TH4T M34NT BUT 4R3 YOU R34LLY GO1NG TO HURT US L1KE TH1S? B3C4US3 1F H3 1S 4NYTH1NG L1K3 YOUV3 D3SCR1B3D H3LL BL4M3 H1MS3LF FOR3V3R 3V3N THOUGH TH4TS STUP1D

GC: 4ND

GC: 1 GU3SS 1TS T3CHN1C4LLY COMPL3T3LY TRU3 TH4T YOU 4R3 MY ONLY FR13ND 4ND 1 L1K3 YOU 4ND W4NT YOU TO 3X1ST

AG: youre a fucking 8itch, you know that? at least john didnt guilt trip me until i died of GUILT instead of dying of DEATH

GC: 1T DO3SNT M4TT3R 1F 1M 4 B1TCH 4ND 1 DONT C4R3 1F 1 4M 4NYW4Y

GC: 1 JUST W4NT P3OPL3 1 C4R3 4BOUT TO STOP DY1NG OK4Y

GC: JUST

GC: STOP

 

gallowsCalibrator [GC] has ceased pestering  arachnidsGrip [AG]

 

EB: wow. i don't know what you said, but she unblocked me, so... that's a big step in the right direction. thank you.

GC: 1 D1DNT DO 4NYTH1NG FOR YOU 4ND 1 D1DNT DO 1T FOR H3R 31TH3R

GC: 1V3 B4R3LY B33N 4W4KE FOR 3 HOURS 4ND 1 4LR34DY DONT H4V3 T1M3 FOR TH1S

GC: 1D S4Y YOU OW3 M3 BUT 1 DONT C4R3 3NOUGH

GC: BY3 JOHN

 

gallowsCalibrator [GC] has ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

 

* * *

 

You decide to get out of the house for a while. There is a coffee shop down the street where people you don't care about go and no one pays attention to you except the barista, which is exactly how you like it. It is also an excellent place to accidentally trip someone with your cane after they have chosen to be rude to you or any of the staff, which happens once in a while.

The best thing about being blind is getting away with justice in situations other people couldn't. The worst thing about being blind is meeting way too many people who require punishment. Here's a fun fact you probably didn't know: people with eyes that work generally use them to treat people with eyes that don't like they are made of glass or to pretend that they don't exist at all. This fact is actually not very fun and you lied to yourself about probably not knowing it. It would have been difficult not to, because you are just talking to yourself in your head.

For today's outing you will be trying to do everything you can think of that makes you feel like a person who is happy, so you wear your favorite shirt. It is a simple shirt: off-vanilla fabric with the Libra sign on it in a color that smells and tastes like you... and also like _justice_ , which might possibly maybe have a small chance of being one of your obsessions. Getting dressed is simple because you make it that way: you do not wear a bra, which would be mostly pointless anyway seeing as there isn't very much there to accentuate for the eyes of people you can't see and don't care about, you don't wear makeup because how would you do that even if you wanted to, and then you really don't pay attention to anything else; you just put on whatever smells best at the time and has the smallest chance of resulting in heatstroke.

On your way out the door you grab your cane but almost forget your glasses. It would be so tragic if some poor stranger had to use their eyes to see that your eyes don't look right; what if someone was upset? Obviously it is your responsibility to protect the innocent from noticing _too_ much about the way that you aren't exactly like them. Their fragile minds might buckle from the strain, or they might be seduced into being mean. You have found jokes about your lack of sight that should have been hurtful and offensive incredibly funny in the past. This is because those jokes came from people who were not a part of the tainted rainbow that is The General Public, and you are sympathetic to why some members of The General Public find this difficult to understand. Basic context and a sense of understanding are very difficult to come by; it would be cruel of you to blame anyone for being a complete piece of shit when being anything else would require them to attempt the rare and highly dangerous x2 Rational Thought and Empathy Combo.

The streets are loud and gross and moldy and gray like always, except for the people, who are much too numerous for comfort and all of their different scents make you a little bit dizzy, but you're used to that by now, at least as used to it as you can be; you are not the kind of girl who is defeated by her environment (or anyone for that matter) and you know exactly where you're going anyway. Eventually you find your weird little coffee shop and the nice barista who never inspires you to dream of causing her to experience incredible death, order some tea with lots of red syrupy stuff in it, and sniff your way to an empty table where you can just be away from everything in peace and possibly release some tension causing minor harm to somebody if the need arises.

It's sort of busy today, but not _too_ busy, nothing overwhelming, and when after ten or fifteen minutes of definitely not thinking about Spidergirl or her not-boyfriend somebody comes over to your table you aren't particularly surprised. You _are_ a bit surprised that he does not just sit down in front of you like most guys, and instead hovers for a second and _then_ says words at you.

"Yo, it cool if I chill over here? Everybody else is, like, borin' as fuck or the _wrong_ kinda hipster shithead, you know?" Huh! You were expecting something more forward. This might be fun for a very short amount of time, and also his shirt is extremely appealing.

"Feel free to occupy this space at your own risk! By the way, your shirt smells delicious. Red is a very nice color." This is an early test that very few people pass. Usually they are immediately put off, and sometimes they pretend they aren't bothered by whatever it is you say about their attire and try to get laid anyway, especially if they are in college and want to score with someone they hope just looks young but is actually seventeen (you are not actually seventeen, you are fifteen).

He snorts in a way that is something like part of a hidden chuckle that he is letting slip on purpose and sits down, setting a mug of road tar on his side of the table.

"Thanks, I like it too," he says. "Reminds me of some shit from a long time ago, blah blah." You can tell that he is about to say more and use the time to sniff out more details. He's maybe around your age, with white-blonde hair and spiky black sunglasses, although he is not wearing them because he's blind. "Rockin' the casual look pretty good over there, yourself." It is difficult to tell if he's being serious about that or if he is an asshole.

"If you are being sarcastic about my clearly disheveled appearance I will have to hurt you, you know. This cane is not just for show and I'm very proficient."

"Nobody ever knows If I'm bein' sarcastic or not, girl," he says in that same airy, almost condescending but strangely not unpleasant way. "I ain't, though, just tellin' it like it is." Interesting. It's time to test some other things. This is fun so far and it is making up for the rest of today more than you expected.

"Your shades make you look like a douchebag." There isn't any hesitation at all, you are just barely able to smell him change his expression from neutral to a small smirk.

"That's the idea," he says. "They also help with the photosensitivity, but hell, why pass up a chance at rulin' the asshole style, right?" Ohhh. That makes more sense. If you weren't completely blind you might feel slightly bad, but his taste in eyewear is still delightfully awful. "See now, you're workin' that sick mirrored red look, so we both look like douchebags. Excellent."

When who you are ruins things you are going to be very sad because you already like this asshole a lot more than you should. Oh well, you might as well enjoy it while it lasts!

"I would not know if I look like a douchebag since I am blind, so thank you for your input! Do you have a name, Mr. Cherry Shirt?" There is the bomb! How will he handle this one?

"Dave Strider, at your service. How 'bout you, queen of the canes? I ain't sure how I'm supposed to, like, slowly become your personal slave and fashion consultant if I got nothin' to call you."

"Terezi Pyrope! Yes, it is my real name, you do not need to ask."

"Wasn't gonna. Cool name. Makes you sound like you're from a sci-fi flick, I dig it."

"Your name makes you sound like an asshole. It suits you. I like it."

He actually laughs this time, low and punchy almost like he's coughing but without any puke-slime in his lungs or throat. You do your best not to grimace when he takes a long swig of his nasty steamy paving substance. Obviously you're aware that other people do not experience taste the way that you do, but you cannot imagine what that would be like and therefore suffer with an imaginary version of him.

"So how'd you know my shirt's red if you can't see nothin'?" Damn, here is where the fun is over. No one believes how your brain and your senses work, even if you can't blame them, since even the most qualified medical professionals could not understand how well you navigate with your nose and tongue, although after a lot of testing when you were a small creature, they had no choice but to believe that you did in fact operate that way. You are actually diagnosed with synesthesia because even though your experience is much more complex and inscrutable, no one wanted to publically admit that you were a mystery and stuck you with a label that is not totally correct.

"I do not see with my eyes, which have never served any purpose! It is simple. I smell colors, and taste them too! It's not as difficult as people seem to think it is." He quirks some face skin and lots of prickly little bundled up licorice strands.

"Badass, ain't gonna say I wish I was like that but I ain't gonna pretend it makes you any less of, like, a snarky superhero or nothin'." Not what you were expecting but you have had similar experiences once in a while.

"You do not believe me," you say, because he can't. "I don't enjoy being patronized, Strider."

"Nah, I do. Not gonna tell you it ain't the weirdest thing I ever run into, Pyrope, 'cause it definitely is, but let's just say if I was gonna be a skeptic it'd make me a hell of a hypocrite, like, if there was a hell for hypocrites I would end up in whatever part's for jackholes who had weird shit goin' on and then got all disbelievin' about other weird folks." Hmm! He is claiming that there is something weird about himself. You'll have to find out what that is. Immediately.

"Oh really? And what is your weirdness, Non-Hypocrite?"

"Real good at tellin' time," he says, and you are about to just get up and leave when he continues. " _Too_ good. Freaked out plenty of people that way, fun party trick though. See I _always_ know exactly what time it is. Can't turn that shit off, neither, although it ain't bother me much, mostly."

"Would you like to prove your special powers, incredible lord over time itself?" He laughs, but this time there's something bitter to the sound.

"Only one lord of time and he's stone cold dead, but sure, why not." Dave turns away and motions for the barista to come over when she has a moment. She has a moment right then, actually, and he speaks to her next. "Yo, you mind doin' me a favor? You got a smartphone, right? Yeah, thought so. I just need a stopwatch function goin'. Like, the kind where you time how long a thing takes." The barista clearly finds this very strange but obliges his request. Strider takes off his shades, though he does not let them out of his hands and his eyes are already shut. Damn. You really wanted to know how they smelled. They might have been very nice eyes.

"Alright, keepin' my eyes shut. Your thingy beep when you start it? Nice. Cool. Go for it." There is a beep and you smell at the situation very curiously. You're pretty sure that at least two minutes pass and are about to suggest that the barista may need time to attend to other customers when he says "Rad, you can stop it." There is another beep. Strider's eyes are still shut tight.

"Well, Time Guy? We are waiting!"

"Cool your jets, I got this. Two minutes, forty one seconds, thirty nine hundredths of a second, five hundred and eighty two milliseconds if your phone does those, probably don't, though."

The barista stares at him. Her grassy irises smell more clearly when she widens her eyes. She shows the phone to you, knowing how you operate and not minding, and you lick the screen, then become very still for a while. Strider replaces his shades and she shows him the result.

"Yep," he says. "Dead on every time. Thanks for the help, by the way, you're good people." The barista simply nods and returns to her work, highly unsettled. "Gonna have to drop a fiver on the tip today, she's pretty cool."

"I tasted the time on that phone, Dave. You were exactly correct. Why can you do that? Did you train yourself? I am not sure that's even possible to do." He shrugs and the little smirk returns.

"Always been this way. What's a smartphone screen taste like, anyway?"

It is official, stamped and notarized in your mind. This is a boy you would like to know better, and you realize, suddenly, that you may have just made your first 'real life' friend in six years.


End file.
